


'Optimal Romantic Possibilities', as He Likes to Call It

by ZiLCH_SjG



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Body Worship, Explicit Sexual Content, Hickeys, M/M, Massage, Oral Sex, Resolved Sexual Tension, blowjob, borderline sexiness devolves into tremendous sexiness, sexual mishaps and by mishaps i mean dirk planned this out very meticulously, they got the bathroom renovated and he wants to 'show it off', very juicy content, winglady of the century roxy lalonde, with roxys help of course
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:40:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23524750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZiLCH_SjG/pseuds/ZiLCH_SjG
Summary: Roxy invites you over to show off the house renovations. Dirk keeps you over to show off something else.
Relationships: John Egbert/Dirk Strider
Kudos: 37





	'Optimal Romantic Possibilities', as He Likes to Call It

You’re at Dirk’s house. Why, you’re not entirely sure. His family’s staying over for a while so you suppose Roxy was right when she said it was a good opportunity to hang out. But it’s just you here. Is she planning on showing you and your family the new, renovated bathroom one by one? Like, you suppose she can. Just why.

Dave’s sitting at the kitchen table with Rose, nodding his head to a fresh jam he’s working on while she texts Kanaya quietly. You’ve been watching him dick around and mumble to his computer as he adds and edits. Before you begin to get bored, Roxy closes the fridge and drags you up the stairs. The door is closed when she turns the corner and approaches it, and she stops in her tracks.

“Don’t tell me Dirk’s taking one of his four-hour long showers,” she complains, putting her ear against the door.

“Huh?” you muse quietly.

“Oh my god, he is, isn’t he.”

“We can always come back later.”

“No it’s his fault, we’re bothering him,” and she pushes open the door, “Dirky, are you bathing?”

You scrunch your eyes shut to avoid prying on him somehow; you don’t quite think you’re ready to see him naked. You timidly blink open after a bit and find a screen shielding Dirk from being seen, leaving him a silhouette of a man. Your shoulders sag with relief. 

“Mm?” comes his voice from behind it.

“I wanted to show John our new bathroom,” Roxy puts her hands on his hips and though he can’t see her face, it’s slightly disdainful.

“By all means,” his figure waves a hand nonchalantly, “don’t let me be a distraction.”

"Cool, well,” she turns back to you, “yeah, we basically got a cool new bathtub. It’s got jets and everything. I’d show you but an illegal and naked man is currently using it.”

“Apologies.”

“And we got a mirror that is actually  _ in front  _ of the sink,” she points to the same wall the door cuts into then back to the opposite wall, “and this fuckin’... pool area, thing. Dirk, what is this for?”

“Showering,”

“Why do we have two different places in the same room for bathing?”

“Multiple bathing areas make for optimal romantic possibilities,” you watch him put his feet over the rim of the bath, “plus, the house is made to hospitalise four people at a time. May as well make it available for multiple people to bathe at once.”

“Yes, for a single, single man like you.”

“I did it for you, darling,” he turns and you see the profile of his face.

“Thank you,” she chuckles, “I’m sure Callie and Janey would be delighted to get down with me on the tiled floor of their best friend’s house.”

What.

Suddenly feeling a pang of pathetic loneliness over how painfully  _ single  _ you are and have always been, you drastically divert the attention to Not the Sexy Shower Pool.

“I love how you perfectly lined up the toilet so it  _ just  _ doesn’t show in the mirror,” you… praise, you suppose could be a word for it. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when someone shows you their renovated house? Compliment the decorating? Although you can’t really call an essential thing like a  _ toilet  _ a decoration, can you.

“One of the most uncomfortable things is having to find somewhere else to look while shitting,” she agrees, “it’s the worst.”

“Roxy, you’ve ruined the mood,” Dirk speaks up out of nowhere, like he was invited.

“John started it!” she mewls, sneering at him which he can’t see, “Anyways, I’ll leave you two to it.”

“What?”

“Have fun,” she slips behind the door and flips the lock, “don’t blow up the water bill, haha.”

The click of the door being closed sounds like you’re being mocked. You could always unlock it yourself and escape but something tells you that you absolutely  _ must not _ . It makes you nervous, embarrassed and flustered, but passing up an opportunity to bask in the glory of Dirk Strider’s silhouette as he bathes is too ridiculous a choice. You would never live it down.

“Now then, since we’re alone, John,” you watch his silhouette reach over to press a button on the rim of the bath and the noise of the jets stop, “not to sound like some cheesy villain from one of your shamefully favoured films, but  _ I’ve been expecting you _ .”

It would be a lie to say it doesn’t send chills down your spine. You feel like you’re about to be sold to the dictator of some far-off galaxy and either turned into his saucy sex slave or sacrificed to the old gods. Either way, it excites you.

“Care to join me?”

“Uh,”

“No need to be so polite,” he coaxes you in, “do make yourself at home. And by that I mean, surely you join me. The water’s quite lovely.”

You like you can’t say no. Well you can, but you feel like you shouldn’t. He’s so endearing and polite and even the silhouette of him makes you go pink in the face that you can’t turn it down, can you? When else are you going to get a chance to bathe with someone like this? And not just anyone, but Dirk Strider? The guy you’ve stared at longingly for the past five months? The guy you always fantasised about, imagining perfect scenarios just like this?

You’re not passing up this opportunity.

“Uuh, sure, thanks,” you cough up a little shakily. You’ll admit, even though you’re taking a chance, you’re still nervous.

“Good, good,” he purrs, taking his legs down from the rim and letting them disappear again, “grab a towel and come around the corner here.”

So, you grab a towel and walk around the corner of the screen. You keep your head up in anticipation, nervous as to what you might see. It’ll be a bit of a shock to you if the first thing you make eye contact with is his dick. Then you’ll  _ really  _ have a hard time (haha) staying calm.

But it’s not. For some reason, seeing his eyes is more of a shock to you. Not only because, holy shit, it’s his eyes and he’s not wearing his ridiculous pointy shades, but also because of the smug expression he’s got. His eyes saunter all over you without moving, lids low, brow raised, dare you even say,  _ bedroomy _ . It makes your throat catch.

“Well?” he speaks up, “What are you waiting for?”

“I, uh,” you awkwardly put the folded towel down on an accent table with another, “let me go change--”

“Oh no need, you’re already here,” he smiles and shrugs gently, “put on a nice show for me, will you?”

Dear lord.

You want to; you’ve fantasised about this before. More than fantasised about this kind of scenario, it’s often been the only thing that finishes your one-handed jam session. But now that the opportunity is presented to you, you realise how silly it is. The you in your fantasies is a lot more experienced in sex, probably works as a stripper, or as an escort, and knows his body well enough to make it jiggle. The real you doesn’t have that experience; you probably can’t woo Dirk the way he could. But, even so, Dirk seems very much convinced otherwise. Not like he’ll get mad if you don’t whip your shirt off and let it slide to the floor like a discarded nightgown, but you’ll certainly be eternally mad at yourself. You come to terms with the fact that if you don’t give him a strip tease, awkward and shy as it is, and instead back out, you’ll never forgive yourself. That would be so much more embarrassing.

You turn your back and he watches every timid, shaky movement. Your shirt goes up past your chest and over your head, flopping quietly to the floor. You unbutton your shorts and let them join it, feeling his gentle gaze bore into you.

“Wait,” he begins and you just manage to hold back a surprised squeak, “turn around for me?”

Out of fear of what might happen if you don’t, you turn to face him. You keep your eyes squeezed shut, however. You can’t bear to look at him.

“Mmmm,” you can’t tell where he’s staring exactly, but you know it’s down, “that’s what I like to see.”

You nod sheepishly like you got an order from a teacher and go back to undressing. You are  _ terrified  _ to remove your last garment; what if he doesn’t like what he sees? But you can’t stop now. And you sure as hell can’t just take a break to still your beating,  _ pounding  _ heart because how the hell do you explain that you’d rather bathe with your underwear on? You could never pull such a thing in front of the ever so calm and collected Dirk Strider.

So, facing away again, you push them down by the waistband and let them drop to the floor. Stepping out and kicking them into the pile of the rest of your clothes, you stupidly bend over to pick them up.

“Very nice,” he comments out of nowhere and you flush bright red, from your chest all the way up to your glasses. Of course you show him your asshole,  _ of fucking course  _ you do. You were so caught up in trying to not look like an idiot that you ended up looking like an idiot. You scowl to yourself, pick everything off the floor, straighten up and push your glasses back on your nose. You are now a little more frustrated with yourself than you are flustered and like a hawk, he picks up on it.

“Well?” he carefully watches you slug everything over the top of the screen, “Do join me.”

Timidly, you take the two steps up to the bathtub and take a split second to stare down at the water, foamy with thick bubble bath on the top. You can’t see the step inside the bath too clearly and you’re scared you’ll trip on it and die (in front of Dirk Strider. While he’s bathing. How embarrassing). Taking the careful step into the hot water, you notice his unapologetic and shameless staring at your  _ bits _ , and you think he’ll look away eventually but he doesn’t. His eyes drift over you with such a hunger, a want, a ravenous and predatory gaze. But he does it with so much  _ passion  _ that you find yourself feeling more flattered than flustered. Even so, when you sit down, you can’t help but let your eyes flutter oh so nervously downwards at the water and away from his face.

The water vapour fogs up your glasses. Frustrated, flustered, and flattered all mix into the one feeling; humiliation. Scowling, you take them off and leave them on the little shelf on the rim of the bath. You’re short-sighted, so Dirk, a good metre or so away with the size of how huge the tub really is, is a tiny bit blurry in your vision.

“So, tell me,” he slips further down into the bath, raking in the casual comfort of his new tub, “what kind of lathers do you use in your own personal care?”

Huh?

“Oh, uh,” suddenly every memory of every soap you’ve ever owned in your house disappears, “um… just… anything that works, really?”

He raises an eyebrow very, very saucily.

“I mean, I guess I don’t pay much attention to what bottles we keep in the shower,” you don’t dare look him in the face and instead tap at the edge of the bath, “just… whatever Jake buys…?”

“Really?”

Right there does he hit you with the unapologetic and shameless stare, but this time, it’s with disappointment. There’s a hint of embarrassment in him too, to be caught bathing with you. It’s like you’re the new kid at school, raked in by the hot cheerleaders who glare at you evilly when you admit you don’t shop at H&M.

“I taught him everything he knows about personal hygiene,” he relaxes back, “I practically  _ invented  _ him.”

You’d recognise that line anywhere, and when embodied by the elusive and ever so enticing Dirk Strider,  _ god  _ is Regina George hot.

“I think you’d like this one,” he pushes himself upwards to reach a black bottle with a blue label from a shelf. You finally get a good, thorough look at his whole torso, the edge of the water cutting off anything lower. You shouldn’t find yourself internally cursing, but you do. He’s fit with lean muscle, without being bulky, smooth streamlines of his figure travelling down to his hips. Which, to say the least, are like perfect jewels wrapped in silk. His breasts look plump and full, like they’d fill out an undersized shirt quite nicely. You can almost see the button-down bursting open over the size of those things.

He doesn’t notice you looking him up and down like a kid in a candy store and continues his conversation. “It’s pretty gentle, good for sensitive skin. You’re quite delicate, aren’t you?”

“Uh,”

He doesn’t wait for you to answer.

“And then this, so you don’t dry out,” he picks up a different bottle, which is white and glossy and has tiny writing, “but, we’ll put that on after we’ve drained the bath.”

He leans back on the foam padding at the rim of the bath, relaxing his delicate but strong shoulders against it. You’re still tight and tense and look very uncomfortable in the warm water. “Relax, John,” he exhales slowly, “I invited you in for a good time.”

“Sorry, uh,” you blink at him and then glance away, “I’ve never really been invited into the bath with someone, so… so I guess...”

“So it’s a little weird?”

“Y-yeah,”

The corners of his mouth curl upwards again, his eyelids drooping in a bedroom-eyed gaze. You have no idea what he’s thinking.

“Well then, we’d better get to know each other more, shouldn’t we?” the curl of his mouth unfurls but he still doesn’t look any less mischievous, “What are your hobbies? How’d you meet Rose and Dave? How long have you been so  _ gorgeous?” _

You try to ignore his ravenous flirting by answering the first question.

“Uh, well, I play piano,” your shoulders are tightly hunched as you speak. Since when did self-introduction become such a difficult task? “And I like video games. But, I guess, everyone does that, so…”

“Ooh, a pianist!” his eyes brighten with interest but gets the beat of the syllables wrong. It sounds more like ‘pianist’ than it does ‘penis’, which you are sad to admit is the wrong pronunciation.

“You’re looking at me funny,” he notices, “did I say something wrong?”

“Uh,” you chuckle lightly, “it’s  _ pi _ a _ nist _ . If it doesn’t sound like you’re naming genitals, you’re doing it wrong.”

“Oh…” he goes a bit pink in the face and looks a little disappointed in himself, like all his efforts to flirt with you have suddenly fallen flat with him pronouncing a word incorrectly. You feel a little bad.

“Sorry, I’ve never heard the word out loud before,” now he avoids your gaze and you wonder if the two of you aren’t that different, “I’ve ruined the moment, haven’t I?”

“No, no!” you knew he was indeed trying to create a moment with you--if not several--but hearing it out loud is a bit jarring. “It’s, uh… uuhhh…”

“You seem tense,” he makes some sort of perfectly confident, animated movement with his expression that almost scares you, “shall I give you a back massage?”

The cocky smile returns and you have no clue how to respond to it. When you do nothing but stare wide-eyed and mouth slightly agape, he raises a hand and motions you towards him. What are you gonna do, say no? This is such a magical and wonderful chance to get even  _ closer  _ to Dirk Strider, plus, you don’t have the courage--or the want--to turn him down.

He parts his legs and you sit between them, surprisingly comfortable on his perch. His chest presses to your back and you feel the perkiness of his nipples flatten against you. They must be sensitive because he moans a bit. He wraps his arms ever so softly around your stomach, staying underneath the water, like he’s trying to keep it secret. He  _ drags  _ you back ever so slowly, until his weight is on the back of the bath and your weight is on him. You squeak a little bit, flustered and almost terrified of what comes next and he chuckles at you. “Shshshshshh,” he cooes, hands travelling up your body slowly and gently, pressing on all your sensitive areas, “let Daddy take care of you.”

You go bright red and when he leans into the crook of your neck and drags in a breath, he hits you with another.

“For a guy who’s never bathed  _ properly _ , you do smell lovely.”

Wow okay. Half insulting, half endearing and you don’t know how to feel about it. You don’t know how to feel about  _ any  _ of this; he’s touching you, talking to you, getting close to you, dare you say he’s trying to  _ love  _ you. You feel like there was probably some guidebook about how to respond to flirting, especially when it reaches this level, and you missed out on a copy.

Behind you, he squeezes a good dollop of the body wash into his hands and rubs it between them until it forms a lather. When his hands make contact with your shoulders, you can’t hold back the squeak that finds its way out. He hums, soft, slow, and passionate, massaging you as your hands find and tenderly grip his legs. His thumbs press into you, palms dig into areas you didn’t know were sore and drags out the stress. He travels slowly downwards to your mid, then lower back. Every area he stops, he squeezes and rubs and tends to with such love and care. His hands are strong, the skin rough, but softened through the soap and water. His touch is gentle but has such a force to it that you often find your head thrown back on his shoulder. The embarrassment of being naked in front of another person and being relentlessly flirted with disappears into the warm contact of skin against skin, his hands melding and stroking your tight muscles. It  _ is  _ relaxing; you have to say that. If he didn’t mind, you’d fall asleep on him right here.

A press of lips to your neck surprises you, but not enough to undo all his progress. He doesn’t leave marks but kisses around your ear, jaw and neck ever so softly, pushing you further to the edge. You don’t know what the edge is or what will happen when you’re flung over it, but you know you’re close. When his hands wrap around your lower back and press at your hips and love handles, you reach it. Your neck stretches back, your eyes float heavenly closed, lips parted in a satisfied sigh that echoes through the room. He still nuzzles the crook of your neck, comforting you as you come down from your high. You feel his hands sneaking oh so s l o w l y up your sides and stop just under your sternum. “Can I touch you here?” he speaks and you realise he means your chest. You’re a chubby guy and it would be untrue to say the baby fat hasn’t given you a slight hint of bust. You never found it as cute or as sexy as Dirk appears to, but a nod lets him go for it. He doesn’t play with your nipples but rather wraps his fingers over the full expanse of your breasts, squeezing, massaging and softening the flesh you didn’t know was tight. He lifts them up, puckering them to a pornstar’s cup size and then bringing them gently down in the support of his hands. He cups them lovingly, giving them one last stroke before letting his arms cross comfortably over your stomach. “Mmmmmm,” you let the moan escape you, unable to hold back your shameless and contented comfort from him. He gives you a little hum in response and for a while, you just cuddle in the hot water, on the verge of sleep and limp in his arms. Somewhere in the distance, he’s talking to you. Maybe he says something along the lines of ‘I’d love to see you covered in my kisses’, or perhaps it was ‘if you ever need more than a massage, you know where to find me’, and maybe there were other naughty hints in there too. You don’t process them. You just soak and simmer and enjoy the hot water until it’s not hot anymore.

When it's lukewarm, Dirk stirs and gently taps you until you wake up. You weren’t exactly out cold but you were certainly getting lost there. You get off him, he moves past you politely and steps out of the bath. You blink and keep your eyes shamefully closed when he stands up. When he grabs a towel from the rack behind you, you open your eyes. You don’t know why it makes you so nervous to see his whole body; you managed to strip naked in front of him and then show him your entire ass. Something about this feels unfair but that’s only your fault.

“Drain the bath for me, would you?”

You timidly follow him out and take your own towel on the rack, taking a minute to dry yourself off. After scooping up the silly pile of your clothes and putting your glasses back on, you run a hand through your hair to try and fix it after the humidity of the bath. But, you assume it looks rather ridiculous regardless and abandon dicking around with it too much.

When you duck around the corner of the screen, you find Dirk admiring his own figure in the mirror. It’s impossible to avoid at least glancing at this point, so for the most part, you focus on arranging your clothes and putting them back on. You don’t look. You swear you don’t. Well, okay, you  _ mostly  _ don’t. He makes it damn difficult though. He drops the towel around his waist like an expensive silk robe and you try, you  _ really  _ try to not stare at his ass. You try even harder to not stare at the reflection of his tits in the mirror. Part of you so badly wants to sneak up behind him, get your arms under his and  _ squeeze _ . He fondled yours, surely he wouldn’t mind if you got your turn too. But you hold back. You’re not  _ that  _ confident. Or, like, charming.

Dirk turns around out of nowhere, chest facing you, but looking back over his shoulder at his ass. He bends over and gives it a good squeeze, like he’s testing out how plump the flesh is. Mmng, you’re jealous to say the least. He can just play with his ungodly attractive body at any time and you’re so timid you hold yourself back from  _ looking _ . Needless to say, you’re pretty sure he’s putting on a show for you. Honoured to be a one-man audience.

Speaking of playing with himself, a hand dips between his cheeks and he teases his hole; it’s pink and perky, and for a moment you’re sure he’s about to start fingering himself in front of you. A soft, drawn-out moan falls out of him before he straightens back up and begins fondling his own tits. He bounces them softly and when he stops, they  _ jiggle _ . Well, you’d probably do the same thing if you had so much to flaunt. He travels down his own body with as much love and care as he did yours and stops at his hips. There goes the smug look again (as if it ever faded). Part of him is a huge prick for having a supermodel body and knowing it and showing it off like this. You’re jealous, excited, flustered, a lot of things in one. All of it peaks when he grabs his half-hard dick and points it at you.

He’s like a model out of a porn-mag, but standing in front of you instead of in the comfort of a dark bedroom and the shiny reflection of magazine pages. Regardless of that, you feel quite lucky to be here. That is, until he glances back at you and catches you ogling him like the biggest virgin alive.

“John,” he  _ purrs  _ and it ripples through you like a warm, slow injection of honey, “don’t feel ashamed to look. I didn’t install a floor-to-ceiling, three-metre wide mirror for nothing.”

You can’t  _ help _ but feel ashamed. You’ve never had the luxury of gazing upon your lover’s naked form as they check themselves out in the mirror. Mostly because you’ve never had a lover.

...Could you call yourself and Dirk lovers?

“Come here, lovely,” he  _ cooes _ at you, pulling up a finger and motioning you forward. As if pulled by some magic, you drop the shirt you were planning to put on and drift over to him. Still hot and naked from the bath, his hands are warm against your cooling skin and you feel like they leave glowing amber hand prints in their wake.

“Did you really think you could just get dressed and leave?” he raises an eyebrow at you and it’s the most you’ve felt laughed at today (but you don’t dislike it), “We haven’t finished.”

You have no clue what he’s talking about and it shows when you mindlessly murmur “What?” while gazing up at him. With your glasses on again, you can finally see clearly. It’s undone by his gentle face looming over you, and it gets you dizzy. You feel like you’re in a haze, in a dream; everything is just a little bit fuzzy around the edges. Either there was something in that body wash, or he really is just that gorgeous.

You didn’t see him pick up the lotion. You didn’t see him take it from the shelf around the corner, you didn’t notice it next to him on the floor the entire time you quietly ogled him. But, like it’s here, and so are you, so there’s something you have in common. He picks it up, flips open the cap and squeezes a generous--and you  _ mean  _ generous--amount into his hand. You’re suddenly close to him, and you don’t mind it a bit.

He knows, he damn well knows what he’s doing when he cups your breasts and thumbs softly over your nipples. His touch sends sparks through you and on such a sensitive area, you are practically holding back convulsions. You can’t stop the slight arch in your back that results from the tingling and it pushes your chest towards his touch. You can’t say you don’t enjoy it; truth is, you  _ love  _ it. You’re pretty sure he loves it too, with the way he’s gazing at you. Eyes half lidded, plump lips slightly parted, shoulders dropped and relaxed. How has he managed to remain calm this entire time and not snap at your fidgeting?

The buds of your nipples perk up, pink with you flushing from embarrassment. He circles your areolas one last time before sliding the lotion further down your body, all the way to your hips. You don’t know where he’ll go next and when he reaches back to knead your ass, consequently pressing both your chests together, you can’t hold back the gasp that shakes its way out. His face gets dangerously close to yours and you don’t mean to breathe directly into his face but you do, and you feel his on your cheek. His lips play with your ear and you can’t hold back the whimper that splutters past, desperate and begging for something  _ more _ . 

To calm you, one hand places itself on your lower back, stroking in gentle circles. It’s supporting without providing any real structure and it causes you to melt even further into his touch. His soft, dexterous fingers dip between your cheeks and without complaint, you let them. He circles your hole the same way he did your nipples, softly, aware of how delicate you are. Is he really a mechanic? Does he really build robots as a hobby?

His breasts pressed against yours are cushy but firm, firmer than yours at least, with how fit he is. The taut muscle of his body rubs against you and the lotion smears perfectly between you. His hands creep further up your back until he’s massaging and grasping at your shoulders, smearing every inch of you in the sweet-smelling cosmetic. You’ve been scratching at his back too for the past… however long you’ve been doing this and you realise the only one getting any hygiene-related progress done is you. Wordlessly, and with a bright red face, you push him back. The lips that had been sucking at your neck pull off with a  _ smack  _ and there’s the tiniest bit of surprise in his raised brow, but he lets you take a breather.

On the crease between your diaphragm and your chest, is still a good scooping of lotion where he started. You mash some between your hands and then dip them under his arms, re-gluing the two of you together again. You’re no expert in the art of massage (not sure if he is himself, but with the way he was touching you, you can’t imagine he isn’t), but you’re determined to match his efforts and make things equal. When you start softly squeezing the flesh of his middle back, he gets the memo and goes back to what he was doing. Feeling his hands on you again makes you  _ moan  _ at the warmth and he gives you a deep, rolling  _ “Mmmmmm,”  _ in response. It’s heaven.

Is this some kinky shit? Or is this very, very vanilla? Considering your lack of experience in the sex world, you have no god damned clue. On the surface level, you’re just getting touchy-feely. But when you actually think about what’s going on, he’s using ‘you wash my back, I’ll wash yours’ as an excuse to feel you up. And you have no complaints, it’s  _ working _ , you haven’t felt this loved or this pampered or this  _ warmth  _ in your abdomen since...

...Ever, actually, you’ve been single your whole life.

He notices your distraction at the stillness of your hands. They’ve dropped to his lower back but have stopped rubbing and are just kind of sitting there in their slime. Pulling back from yet another hickey on your neck that you won’t know how to explain to your family, he looks at you with the same softness as always, but with a hint of questioning.

“You alright?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” you smile stupidly, lovestruck. His eyes, welcomingly invasive as always, drop from your face to the part of you that’s feeling a little too hot. He smiles and you look down at his.

He’s not circumcised, of course, but just big enough for his head to  _ peek  _ out over his foreskin. It goes from being snugly wrapped up, to travelling down that seemingly never-ending chute, to poking out and up at you. Precum drizzles out already, a few drops hitting the floor before they run down to reach his balls. He looks  _ heavy _ . Like out of sympathy, totally not because you’re gay and mesmerised by every inch of him (take that as you will), you want to help him out. “H--” you splutter out before he cuts you off, dragging you impatiently forward again and sucking a new hickey onto the crook of your neck. You gasp in surprise at the sudden movement and immediately find yourself how you were before; eyes rolled back, sensitive nipples pressed against his, dick standing upright at him and catching more than just his attention. Gasping for breath. Blissed out.

He drops lower.

As if just fondling your breasts wasn’t enough, you’re going to have a pretty patchwork of hickeys on them now. His mouth is gentle on your soft flesh, suckling gently, but hard enough to leave evidence. He kisses a nipple then traces his tongue over it and you shudder. Guzzling it into his mouth, he takes a moment to glance up at you. He pulls off and suddenly, he’s on his knees, leaving his trail of kisses and matching marks down to your hips. He reaches one and turns his head, giving you the most beautiful view of his face. He kisses your hip, sucks on it like candy, grazes his teeth and licks it better. With his hands on your thighs keeping you steady as you whine, he travels oh so gently inwards until he’s gazing at your dick.

“Please don’t stare at it!”

“Why not?” he smiles up at you, “It’s quite beautiful.”

“Huh?”

You have no idea what could ever make a dick ‘beautiful’ in  _ any  _ sense, especially yours.

“I mean, y’know,” he dangerously slides his hand up and down the shaft, to get a good feel for it, you suppose, “it’s a good size, a good colour… you’re cut, which makes it look neat. And--oh!”

Your dick doesn’t just jump in his hand, it more so  _ leaps  _ at the not-even-a-handjob that he’s giving you. The slightest touch gets you going and you are so embarrassed; how much more of a virgin can you possibly be?

“Now that’s hot,” he smirks, squeezing a bit harder and watching as your own precum drips out.

“I always thought I was kind of small…”

“Conventionally, maybe,” he grins, “but I like it.”

His tongue dips out at the last word, naughty smile still plastered on his face. Even though he’s been on his knees for a whole conversation now, you’re still shocked that he’s come here to suck you off. You feel honoured, nervous, like you don’t deserve it, and a lot of other stupid feelings.

His tongue slips gently across your slit and licks up the goo that had gathered there. His lips encircle the tip of your head and slip around it, pulling off and on and kissing at you tenderly. Immediately, he’s making you want more while not giving it to you. Oh, what a naughty thing he is. He’s done this before, hasn’t he?

His mouth pulls away and drops to your balls, sucking and swallowing at the sensitive flesh. You squeak and mumble and babble, no actual words forming, but certainly a good few noises. His moan and grin that interrupts his sucking tells you he likes it when you’re noisy. A whole shuddering gasp escapes you when he licks a slow, careful stripe up to your tip, taking you in again. His tongue pressed against the underside of your dick makes you lose balance and you find it again with your hands in his hair. His eyes gaze up at you and if you didn’t have any composure, you’d lose it, right then and there in his mouth. The sight of slipping between those soft, plump lips makes you throb and he notices. Eagerly, he swallows more of you down. Your twink stick obviously isn’t much of a challenge for him, with the way there isn’t any choking or even tears at his eyes. You’re kind of glad about it though, you’re not all that into being in control. Even so, it makes you wonder how much he can really take.

He dips. He dips, and tightens his mouth on you and you let a cry escape you, echoing about the bathroom. You dread to think what any of his family thinks of you two right now; you’re sure they can hear all of it. The  _ schlop, schlop, schlop  _ of his mouth on you isn’t exactly the quietest of sounds either and it makes you more and more fidgety with each movement. It’s the in, almost-out,  _ in _ that really gets you going, letting a bit of effort go into your hands as you slam his head down onto you. Aside from that, he’s totally doing all the work; you’re not even thrusting your hips for him. To be honest, you don’t know how much of a help that would be either but you are certain that his neck is going to be  _ aching  _ tomorrow. His movements, quickened with the wet slip of the lotion, make you see stars. You’ve never had the pleasure of feeling someone’s mouth around you, up, down, up, down, all the way to the tip and then slamming back in. He does this clever little thing where he slides up and down very very quickly, burying his nose at the base, swallowing thickly,  _ d r a g g i n g  _ back to the tip and opening his mouth for a breather. Every time, he takes a moment to  _ really  _ suck it, tightening the circle of his lips just under your head. It would be a lie to say it doesn’t make you gasp shakily, make your legs jiggle and make you almost topple over him in pleasure. It took him no time at all to find your most sensitive area. Though, pretty much every area of you is sensitive right now. His touch, his lips, his gentle kiss to your slit, the way he sucks all your pre into his mouth and guzzles it down, it makes you whine. Without needing words, he moans back at you, sliding ever so slowly back down to the base. He gargles on purpose, making his whole throat jiggle around you and you catch your breath. He doesn’t go back up; he keeps his place, no matter how hard you pull on his hair. The only effect that takes is him moaning, begging, practically singing on your cock and every vibration makes you jiggle. The shuddering moan around you that makes you cum is a result of no other than his own orgasm. This guy’s something else.

As you come down from your high, he lets you slam into him a few times to ride it out. Once you’ve finished for good, he drags all the way back, slowest of every other movement he’s made. To throw in with the mix, he grazes his teeth against you. How naughty of him. He tightens his lips and pops off with a  **_smack_ ** , like something out of a porno rather than a newly furnished bathroom. He opens his mouth and shows you the money shot, his tongue still connected to your softening dick by a few strings of cum and saliva. He closes with a naughty smirk on his sloppy lips and swallows thickly. The sound is gorgeous; heavy, squelchy, wet. You can’t imagine the amount of endurance he went through to drink it all down; it’s kind of disgusting but only makes him more admirable to you.

Your knees are wobbly from the lasting sensation and he stands up just in time to catch you. You’re not really falling dramatically into his arms but you certainly appreciate the support.

“Feel good?” he gently presses at you, his words slightly gummy from his meal. You just gaze up at him dreamily, honestly not sure what to say. Good? It was amazing. You don’t think you’ll ever be satisfied now.

“Cool, cool,” he takes as an answer with a grin, patting your shoulder and then breaking away. He picks up his towel again and wraps it around him before washing his mouth out at the sink for a good few minutes. You could do with a drink too, you think. And food. Damn, who would have thought that getting sucked off would make you so hungry.

You struggle your clothes back on and exit with him, hoping no one catches the both of you. He ducks into his room on the other side of the hall to get dressed and he parts from you with a wink. Trying to keep the red of your face down, you jog down the stairs and go looking for a snack from their kitchen, which you don’t find. You do find Roxy though, which Jane says is basically the same thing. She has an evil smirk on her face and she’s certainly not keeping it to herself. “So, how’d it go?” she teases.

You can’t hide the flush that courses up your entire chest and fills your face with red. Trying to remain sensible, you push your glasses up your nose. “Fine,” you say as nonchalantly as possible, as if nothing ever happened. As if Roxy didn’t  _ coax you into it _ . She loses the grin and raises an eyebrow.

“C’mon, Dirk is better than just ‘fine’,” she rolls her shoulders in sync with her eyes and aims directly at you, “I’m assuming it was a lot more than ‘fine’ considering the pretty pattern all over your neck.”

“A--!” your shoulders come up to your fucking bright-red ears, “How would you even know?”

“Well I wouldn’t, I just want to see him happy,” she replies, leaning casually against the kitchen counter, “was he good?”

“Maybe a bit too good,”

“Hahaaaa!” her face breaks into a huge smile, her pearly teeth shining at you, “I knew you two would get together eventually. Who would have thought that all it takes is a little temptation and he’s suddenly irresistible to you.”

“Are you calling me a virgin?” you sneer, brow furrowing.

“Well not anymore,” you go silent and bite your lip, “you’re not that quiet.”

She chuckles as she walks past you, patting you on the shoulder as she leaves. “Do give him a thank you before he leaves, okay?”

You nod wordlessly and she exits to the living room. You’ll really have to mull this whole day over for a while; you have a lot to process and you’re not entirely sure how to go about it just yet. In the meantime, you infiltrate the system and by system you mean fridge and search for food. There’s plenty of leftovers and you find a singular sausage sitting alone on one plate. Ready to eat just about anything, you grab it. Immediately, recent thoughts flood back to you. You scrunch your embarrassed face and push them away. You’re hungry all the same.

You clean up the plate and throw away the saran wrap for them because even though you’re a guest, you’re not a dick with no manners. Your father raised you better than that. Speaking of manners, Roxy told you to thank Dirk for the time and effort (a lot of effort, good lord) that he put into today. You hear his voice in the living room and venture out to find him, timid as you are.

He seems a bit occupied. Dave’s always had this classic tactic to get you riled up and he did it by snogging Dirk whenever the two of you were in the same room. Even Rose, one of the least affectionate people you know, joined in on it. Dirk certainly always seemed happy to get some quality time with his family but it never took effect; you never actually got jealous or mad enough to initiate anything with Dirk. You’re double grateful for Roxy for taking action.

“Mmm, you smell nice,” Dave is cooing at him, nose tucked into the crook of his neck as they cuddle. Dirk rocks him gently from side to side and while stroking his hair, captures his lips in a kiss. You’d say it makes you jealous, but, the joke's on Dave; he doesn’t know where his mouth has been.

You keep your evil smirk to yourself.

Dave makes eye contact with you past the corner of Dirk’s cheek and he breaks away, grinning back at you. Both of you seem to have an aloof sense of pride today and you can’t wait to see him get crushed. Or maybe you can. How many details are you willing to reveal to this guy, just for the sake of retaining your title of Prank King?

Noticing the two of you are about to have a battle to the death, Dirk walks past you as if you’re not there and heads to the kitchen. You don’t see his eyes under his stupid shades but you’re sure he winks at you.

“Hey dude,” Dave greets you and holds up his hand for the casual slap-n-grab (as if you didn’t just slap-n-grab his brother on every other inch of his body). When you’d usually let go and fist-bump, he holds onto your hand with a firm grip and raises an eyebrow at you. Oh no. You don’t know what that means. What will he do.

He  _ drags  _ you in (you  _ feel  _ Dirk’s eyes on him and know he’s gonna get a telling-to for this) and takes a strong whiff of your neck (you’re sure he notices the ‘pretty pattern’ on it too). He pulls back. Looks bemused. Leans back in and takes another deep breath.

“Dude,”

He looks over at Dirk, who sucks nonchalantly on an (in)appropriately shaped popsicle.

“Wait…”

You look away, red in the face.

“No.”

Dirk throws his evil gaze over to you and his lips curl upwards in a smirk.

Dave starts yelling as he chases him up the stairs and you decide that it’s time you probably left. You’ve experienced and caused enough havoc as it is today.

“You good?” you call up the stairs, just to make sure they haven’t killed each other. You hear some distant sound of ‘I can’t believe you would do that’ and ‘fuck off, I got this bathroom for a reason’ and other muffled arguments. Dave comes clunking around the corner a little grumpily but not enraged, plodding down the stairs towards you.

“H-hey Dave,” you smile with a concerned raised eyebrow.

“You’re on thin fucking ice, dude,” he pushes your shoulder heartily and you sneer at each other as he goes by. Dirk’s sultry voice calls you up the stairs and as you go, you hear Dave screaming.

You enter the bathroom again and get hit in the face with the remaining steam and warmth from the earlier bath. Dirk is going through the cabinet under the sink with one hand, popsicle in the other.

“Did you want this?” he asks, holding up another bottle of the same lotion he used between you. You flush.

“Uh, no, that’s okay, it’s yours,” you mumble out as he approaches you.

“Aw c’mon, take it,” he cooes, getting close to you, “keep it as a reminder.”

“O...okay,” you look down, no less flustered than before you got in the bath with him. He grins and you follow him out into the hall.

Immediately, he stops you and he does it by taking off his shades and hooking them in the belt loop of his jeans. You saw his eyes not fifteen minutes ago but even so, seeing them again still comes as a fascinating surprise. 

“How about a kiss?” he smirks at you. 

You barely have time to say “Huh? What?” before he’s pulling you in and capturing you. You drop the lotion and it clunks noisily against the carpet. He sucks you in, holds you tight, he’s warm against your chest. His kiss is soft, slow and gentle before suddenly turning harsh and rough. His tongue darts in and you let him lick every area he can get to, his lips mashing against yours in his attempts to dig deeper. You can taste the cold sugar of the popsicle in his mouth and you eat it off him greedily. He drags back and grabs your bottom lip between his teeth, tenderising you before digging in and  _ biting _ . You gasp and try to hold back the moans but some of them escape. The sharp pain of his teeth on your sensitive lip is heavenly; sore, naughty, red with love. He sucks on it at the end and breaks away with a smack. You watch his eyes as he grins, admiring his work. Your lip is pink with pain and you bite it into your mouth to suck on it. When you let it go, he leans back in and gives you a smooth, tender kiss. No teeth, no tongue, something you’ve seen him give Dave a million times. It feels so good. You feel like you’re on top of the world.

“You taste so sweet,” he cooes at you when he pulls away, practically making love with his eyes. You don't say anything. You just stare back at him droopily, unable to think of any comprehensible sentence. 

“Oh, and John?”

“Hm?”

His eyes hold the same expression as they did when you were in the bathroom and you don’t have time to prepare for what he does next. He licks the bright-blue popsicle into his mouth, past his lips, past his teeth and  _ down  _ his throat. You watch the stick in his hand reach his lips and almost go halfway down, but he chokes. His eyes roll back, head lifts and he  _ drags  _ it out, sticky with his saliva. His plump lips, chapped and bright red with all their hard work, look like fruit somehow. 

“Until next time, gorgeous,” he winks at you, and heads off down the hall.

Next time, huh.

Until then, it's time you went home. Much to think about.


End file.
